


The Soul of the Sidelines

by Coldest_Fire



Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Bisexual Veronica Sawyer, F/F, Female!JD, Genderbent JD, Heather Chandler is probably closeted but that's not an excuse for her to be Like This, I'm an English major and Heather likes books, Minor canon violence? Like it's a few punches, Pre-JDronica, This is my take on gay heathers bc theres no boot of the barestage version, Veronica is a bisexual disaster, WLW written by an WLW, Warnings for Homophobic language, and the Baudelaire reference is canon, fight for me but gay, gratuitous use of literary references, it happens all of twice in the story but I thought I should mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 12:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19109986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coldest_Fire/pseuds/Coldest_Fire
Summary: (Fight for me, but with a female JD!)The girl was just entering, one hand curled around a bright blue slurpee cup. The window on the other side of the door backlit her, like she was something straight out of a movie.Veronica was almost breathless, and shot Heather Duke a look, trying to telegraph how the room had run out of air to breathe.





	The Soul of the Sidelines

**Author's Note:**

> It's been eternity since I've posted, but I actually started this in January, and rewrote it twice since then. After seeing a few clips of Barestage Heathers, and seeing some genderbent JD fanart on Tumblr, I decided this was something I wanted to explore. Triple bonus points for slipping my second year English hot takes directly into the narrative because Heather likes to read, and Ronnie is smart, and JD did quote obscure Baudelaire. Hopefully, I'll write Freeze Your Brain sometime!

_When Charles Baudelaire translated for Edgar Allan Poe, he found in him the same capacity for the macabre, and the same cynical view of man. Of this, he said “It is pleasant to know that some fragments of an old truth are exploded in the faces of all these obsequious flatterers of humanity, of all these humbugs and quacks who repeat in every possible tone of voice: "I am born good, and you too, and all of us are born good!" forgetting, no! pretending to forget, like misguided equalitarians, that_ **_we are all born marked for evil!”_ **

It sucked being the bi Heather. Not as much as it would have if the others knew about it, but Veronica kind of would liked to live the last year of high school at least out to her friends. She knew about the way Heather Duke felt about Heather Mac only because Heather told her once, in confidence, when she’d mentioned how bi the entire cast of Twelfth Night was. Heather was like that, she waited for someone else to mention things, before she’d admit to them. Having seen the way Chandler treated her, Veronica could kind of see why. Still, it meant she wasn’t alone.

It also meant, other than sharing a long-suffering _look_ , she had no way to vent when they saw a really cute girl. But it was cool, having common ground with Heather, other than just the discussions they had of the books they were covering in AP English Lit. It was one of those conversations that Mac and Chandler walked in on, Heather Duke insisting that Eliot’s wasteland was “intentionally inaccessible bullshit,” while leafing through her worn copy of their anthology. Veronica had her own open, trying to unpack what was going on with Lil, and who was speaking when, when Chandler slid into their table beside her.

Even if she hadn’t seen Heather slide in, she’d have known it by the way Heather Duke slowly stopped talking. She went from confidently asserting that the last line in the section was in Lil’s narration implies her death, to barely speaking three words. When Mac sat down beside her, she didn’t seem to notice, chirping out a hello before launching into a story about a routine she was trying to teach the cheerleaders, and how she was having so much trouble trying to find people to be at the base of the pyramid, but instead of saying that, she said “finding bottoms” and Veronica gave a less-than-attractive snort.

Mac had said “bottoms” for about the millionth time (was she doing this just to see if Veronica would crack up?) when Heather Chandler heard up a hand, telling Mac to stop, and then pointed at the door.

Veronica looked over Heather Duke’s head, seeing who Chandler was gesturing at. “It’s the dyke from first block English,” she announced to the rest of the table, at which point Veronica and Heather Duke shared a look, and Veronica remembered the other reason being the bi-pseudo Heather wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Heather Chandler.

Heather “was this dress painted on me” Chandler. Heather “constantly jokes about how gay that was” Chandler. Heather “kissed Veronica on the cheek once after putting her lipstick on cause she wanted to see if the red transferred” Chandler. And despite that all that made Veronica pretty sure Heather wasn’t straight, that didn’t give her an excuse to be out there making life miserable for the queer kids. So Veronica figured she’d just be really silent, and Heather Duke would be really silent, and Chandler would lose steam once it was just her and Mac talking.

Think of it as starving a fire, rather than getting close enough to throw water on it. Safety.

Veronica wasn’t even going to look at the girl, except that Heather Chandler was going on about how she could not believe some of the things she’d said in a class debate that Chandler was only half-involved in anyway, about beauty culture in the short story they’d read. Chandler was going on about how the fact that the new girl _didn’t even fucking wear makeup_ , meant that she had no right to speak for those of them that did, and some other stuff that Veronica had tuned out, and Veronica chanced a glance at her. She thought she’d be covert, after all, it couldn’t have been easy being that girl, who was probably soon to realize what a mythic bitch Heather could be.

The girl was just entering, one hand curled around a bright blue slurpee cup. The window on the other side of the door backlit her, like she was something straight out of a movie. It illuminated against her tanned skin, played off her spiked up short, black hair, and the folds of her over-sized trench coat. Veronica watched her push her wallet into the pocket of her ripped jeans, before shrugging the jacket off to reveal a red and black flannel, rolled up to expose her forearms, and a black tank-top with the name of a band on the front.

Veronica was almost breathless, and shot Heather Duke a look, trying to telegraph how the room had runout of air to breathe. Duke tipped her head towards Heather Chandler, and then gave a bit of a head-shake. No matter how gay she makes you feel, Ronnie, it’s not worth it, she seemed to remind Veronica. And Veronica knew that. She knew Heather Chandler would destroy her. It didn’t mean she couldn’t dream, right?

The girl tied her jacket around her waist, rolling the sleeves of her flannel down, almost as an afterthought. Her eyes were tired, Veronica noticed, the only part of her that didn’t seem completely bulletproof. There were dark bags under her eyes, which were warm, and brown, and Oh shit! Veronica made eye contact. The girl’s lips curled into half a smile, before she picked her drink up, and took a sip, eyes still on Veronica.

Did the temperature of the room change, or was that just Veronica blushing? She supposed she’d never know, would she? And of course, as she’d been staring at the new girl, Kurt and Ram had to swoop in and one of them had noticed her staring. “That bitch?” Kurt asked, looking down at Veronica, who really wished she could force the blood out of her cheeks.

Ram punched him on the arm, noticing her face and yelling, none-too-silently, “dude! Veronica is totally into her bullshit!” Which they thought was _hilarious_ , because they were one step closer to their ideal three-way. Which, was not how being bi worked at all, but Veronica was not in the mood to try to explain not wanting to bed everyone always, just because she was attracted to multiple genders. Least of all when she could just feel Heather Chandler’s grey eyes on her, cold, steely. This must be how the specimens they dissected in bio felt right when the scalpel dug in. Even Mac turned to look at her, though Heather Duke had the decency to pretend to be engrossed in Eliot’s wasteland.

Everyone kept looking at her until she realized, before dissecting her with the scalpel she could conjure out of her steely grey eyes, Heather had asked her if she was actually interested in the new girl. She stammered out an unconvincing “No?” Which made Heather Duke sigh directly at the Waste Land, louder than even Eliot trying to use Sanskrit deserved.

Kurt just turned to Ram, unwilling to watch his dreams of a three-way be crushed by the actual reality of Veronica liking the new girl. “let’s kick her ass!” He insisted, which earned an eye roll from Heather Duke, and a look of concern from the girl he was actually seeing at the moment, Heather MacNamara. Veronica felt the cafeteria mashed-potatoes she’d eaten turn into concrete in her stomach. Kurt Kelly hadn’t nearly gotten suspended form football for pulling punches. She just wanted to get in the way. There was no way he’d punch a Heather.

“Kurt!” Ram laughed, “man, we’re seniors. Do you know what Phlegm is going to say if she catches us being up a chick? We’re too old for that shit.” It was a dark day for Westerberg. Ram Sweeney, serving as the voice of reason, but if it kept the new girl safe. It wasn’t like Veronica could say anything now, without outing herself to the entire table. Both jocks looked to Heather Chandler, because she called all the shots here, who gave a disinterested shrug, pointedly looking at her nails, which were, as always, impeccable. Kurt had to make her look up,

Veronica could hardly bear to look as he, and then Ram walked towards the girl, who was headed to a corner table, probably specifically to avoid crap like this.

“Hey!” Kurt yelled, trying to get her attention. When she didn’t turn to face him, heyelled a slur, louder. She sighed, turning to face him, “what did your girlfriend say when you told her you were moving to Sherwood, Ohio?” He demanded, looking a little gleeful. It wasn’t enough to impress her, as she turned back around to walk away, rolling her eyes at them.

Ram cut her off, getting in front of her, folding his arms and trying to look imposing. “My buddy, Kurt just asked you a question,” he insisted, his voice going low, threatening, before he added in, “you worried she’s going to get some real dick now?” He thrust crudely into the air, like he was humping an invisible girl, really, really badly. Which was why Veronica was so, so glad Heather Chandler had stopped trying to set her up.

The girl narrowed her eyes, and held a little tighter to her slurpee, but didn’t say anything. Kurt and Ram couldn’t resist. They loved trying to make the other person throw the first punch. “Ram! Ram!” Kurt whooped, “isn’t this cafeteria a no-fags-allowed zone?” He quipped, pretending to think. Veronica took this moment to look at the Heathers. Mac was biting her lip, like she wanted so say something, but settled against it. Heather Duke was so glued to her anthology that Veronica didn’t doubt she’d flipped all the way back to the Marriage of Heaven and Hell. She wasn’t going to watch. Chandler looked like she was one bucket of popcorn away from the most riveting lunch since the time those freshmen sat at her table. Neither god, nor the devil could make Chandler grow some empathy.

Veronica was going to copy Heather Duke, and get really interested in her lit paper, but just as her eyes started to find the line she left off at, the girl responded. “Sure seems to have an open door policy for assholes,” she remarked, shoving Kurt away from her, just as Veronica’s eyes snapped up, and her breath hitched.

Kurt righted himself, and got right in her face, despite being considerably taller than her, as Ram remarked that she had better watch her mouth. She seemed to think for only a split second, before setting her slurpee down on the table behind her, with her jacket. “Maybe you should watch my mouth, asshole,” she suggested, her eyes finding Veronica’s, “you might learn something.” Veronica forgot to breathe as she just hoped Kurt and Ram didn’t get what she’d meant. This new girl was going to die, horribly, in front of the bloodthirsty eyes of all of Westerberg high. They moved to grab her arms, and Veronica watched as the new girl swung, her fist connecting directly with Kurt’s jaw, grabbing his lunch tray as he stumbled, and bringing it down as hard as she could onto Ram’s head, cracking the plastic.

Veronica didn’t realize she wasn’t breathing until she let out the breath she’d been holding.

Watching Kurt charging back at her, and the new girl bring up one boot to kick him where it hurt, shoving Ram while he was still dazed, a lot became clear to Veronica. She’d always hated watching these fights, but something was different about this. Watching this crap with the rest of the school, encouraging Kurt and Ram to beat the shit out of whoever hadn’t deserved it this time, because it meant people knew they couldn’t be different, that wasn’t who she was. She still wanted to believe they didn’t have to fight.

But she had to admit, it was poetic justice, watching the girl the rest of Westerberg wanted to see break beat the shit out of their resident asshole jocks. It made her think that maybe, it wasn’t so dangerous, being like her, being unapologetic, and herself, when you could protect yourself. It made her feel like she could be who she was, because people like that mystery girl existed, and wouldn’t let people like Heather, Kurt and Ram force them into being who they were told.

In a moment almost suspended in time, Veronicacould see who she’d have been if she’d met the mystery girl instead of the Heathers in the bathroom. She could see herself helping that girl clean the blood off her knuckles, could see herself stealing that jacket to keep it out of the fray, draping it over her shoulders and watching her absolutely demolish those guys. She could see herself making remarks at Kurt and Ram back—just because she couldn’t punch didn’t mean she hadn’t learned quite a bit of venom from being a Heather.

She could just see herself kissing that girl’s cheek when people caught them holding hands in the hallway, and said shit they had to pretend didn’t bother them. Until one day, it wasn’t pretence, because the mystery girl was so brave, and Veronica thought, with her, she could be too. She could hold her hand, and sometimes that girl would carry her, and she could learn to be proud of who she was even if Heather destroyed her, cause what could Heather even do, when she was with that girl.

She could practically feel the warmth of her hand, clasped in hers. She could feel the stability. Neither of them were going anywhere. They’d patch each other up. Veronica would leave traces of blue glittered lipgloss on bandages when ever the mystery girl was hurt. Would take for hours, would hide inside her jacket, and hopefully, hopefully she’d want her there.

Oh, right. She supposed that was the catch. The mystery girl would have to be okay with being seen with her. Being seen didn’t bother her, but with Veronica? With blue pseudo-Heather, who had nothing to offer but lipglossed kisses, and words, and the fact that she’d try to be brave. Who wasn’t nearly as pretty, or as audacious, or as interesting as the people she was sure flocked to mystery girl. All she could offer was the fact that she wouldn’t abandon her, just because it got hard.

She supposed, she’d fight for her.

The mystery girl, meanwhile, was ducking out of the way of a punch that missed her by miles, striking Kurt again, and then shoving him just as Heather Duke put down her book, to see why the cafeteria was silent, and not full of everyone jeering like usual. She looked at Veronica isshock, asking her what exactly had happened. “She…can punch, real good,” Veronica explained, wondering where the linguist in her had gone.

Heather Duke snorted at Veronica’s inability to speak, but looked a little shocked. “She’s lasting longer than I thought…” she hissed back to Veronica, How was back to staring at the Mystery girl, who, with one, glorious final blow stepped clear of the two fallen jocks, and pushed the little bit of her hair that had fallen into her eyes back with her hands. Veronica felt time slow, and the breath catch in her throat, as she watched the Mystery girl’s fingers glide through her short hair.

God, Veronica wished that was her. She wished any part of this had her in it, wished she wasn’t just a spectator.

And then, there was her chance. The mystery girl forgot her slurpee. Going for casual, Veronica sprinted over to the table, grabbed the slurpee, and bolted out the cafeteria door, after the mystery girl. She was a little further down the hall, smirking almost bemusedly when Veronica followed her. Shorter than Veronica thought, when she was watching her kick their asses, but somehow, somehow, inexplicably, she was a tiny bit shorter than Veronica. Her knuckles were already starting to turn purple, and Veronica looked at them as she tried to figure out how to talk to her.

She took that moment to sit on top of a desk that had been moved to the hall for someone to write a test on, or something. “Are you here on behalf of the lipgloss gestapo?” She asked, raising an eyebrow at Veronica when she dared actually look her in the eyes. All Veronica could really say was a breathy _what?_

“I don’t know if you have a soul, or if you just have good taste, but you won’t have one for long with them,” she insisted, something resolute in her eyes, which were almost black in the badly lit hallway. “After all, we’re all born marked for evil,” she intoned, getting up, taking her slurpee from Veronica’s hand, her fingers lightly brushing over hers.

Veronica turned around as she was headed down the hallway, towards the exit to the school. “Hey, you can’t just quote Baudelaire at me and then walk away!” She insisted, thankful that she’d at least read Baudelaire’s essay on Poe where he’d said that. Even if she was, staunchly one of those “quacks” who still thought all people were basically good. When that didn’t make the girl turn around, Veronica tried again. “I also didn’t catch your name?” She tried, just hoping that would persuade her to turn around.

The girl did, for a moment, stopping in the doorway, “I didn’t throw it,” she remarked.

Veronica took a moment to just stand there, and feel what she was feeling. No, she wasn’t the girl for mystery girl. She wasn’t the one that girl would fight for. And all three Heathers had just seen her bolt after her. Great.

From outside, the mystery girl stepped out into the sunlight, outside the school, and took a long sip of her slurpee, wondering why the girl in blue had returned it. Wondering why she was bothering to think about someone she met in a city she’d probably live in for what, two months?

It was the first time someone followed her after she got into a fight, to do anything other than freak out off her for doing it. When she swallowed the mouthful of slurpee, and felt the ache between her temples blossom, it turned her brain off just enough that she didn’t have to think about the fact that this place was different.

It didn’t change that she knew it was. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who read this! I love reviews, and to discuss, my tumblr is @chameleons-and-tea. 
> 
> Now to get a slurpee, and write Freeze your brain. If I'm going to write it in one POV, would y'all prefer to watch Ronnie go "?????" as JD overshares, or watch JD go "?????" at herself because she's telling Veronica all this?


End file.
